Stephanie went in for bloodwork on Tuesday morning to see how she was reacting to the stimulation drugs she’s been on since Friday. The news was very good. Her estrogen level was at 634, or thereabouts, and I’m not sure what that means, except that the nurses involved were all feeling very positive about the direction we’re headed in. They asked Stef to come back on Wednesday morning to have an ultrasound done.
The good news alleviated a lot of stress on my part, letting me know that I’d been administering the shots correctly, that I had nothing to worry about on that front. Each of the milestones we’ve reached in this process has been a positive one so far, and I’m cautiously optimistic. I don’t want to get too excited about anything. There are still a million chances for failure between now and the moment we walk out of a hospital with a baby in our possession.
I’ll anxiously await the results of the ultrasound on Wednesday morning, but I will try not to read too much into the number it provides. After all, all I really need to know is what the nurse’s reaction was. The numbers, which mean so much for other couples going through this, are, surprisingly, not of great concern to me.
What I really want is optimism—cautious optimism, to be sure, but optimism in any case. As long as I hear that the doctors and nurses are encouraged by what they’re seeing, I’ll be fine. I don’t want anyone jumping for joy, though. I don’t want any overreacting. That would make a failure that much harder to bear. And I’m acutely aware of how fragile this whole business is.